Pumpkins
by Feather
Summary: A series of vingettes featuring Hagrid// Ron journeys down to see Hagrid, Hermione learns about forgiveness...
1. Pumpkins

Title – Pumpkins
    
    Author – Feather

Rating – G-PG

Genre – General/Philosophy

Category – Harry Potter

Author's notes – Sometimes people show remarkable depth when they have been taken at face-value all of their life, showing extraordinary perceptiveness and keenness to their surroundings. I've never found Hagrid stupid, as some people have, so I wove my perceptions of him, and of Ron, into a little piece that is as much a Harry Potter vignette as a philosophical ranting. I seem to be doing a lot of those lately ^^*. 

*

Snow was poised on the clouds' edges, balanced finely as if bordering a knife blade, and the air was too heavy, too thick, with the anticipation. The world was bathed in an eerie gray light, and whispers of shadow fringed the rough winter wind. Ron tightened his cloak as he paced the Hogwarts grounds, an unseen, yet still present, demon haunting his steps and thoughts: the anticipation of everything. A sudden, more forceful, wind stirred his cloak, and great breaths of air seeped through his thick, fraying winter clothes. The world felt too wrong, too caught up in everything, and too alert; Ron quickened his steps, though they faltered as he approached Hagrid's cabin.

Hagrid was growing pumpkins again, a mocking little reminder of how ill at ease everything was. It was really so ironic, now, that Ron would notice a little thing like pumpkins growing. Their size had already swollen to a full-moon shape, so reminiscent of his second year, when Hermione had looked on disapprovingly that Hagrid had used his magic to grow them, when Harry had come with him after the burping-slug incident and Hagrid had roared at him not to hurt the precious beauties. Ron really couldn't remember the last time he had seen Hagrid alone, if he ever had. Hermione and Harry had always been with him, and as Ron lifted his hand, chapped red from the cold, to knock the door, he felt a small chord of nervousness twang in his heart and reverberate throughout his entire body, settling particularly in his stomach.

Ron waited a minute, searching unconsciously for Fang's scratching at the door until he remembered Fang had been killed several months ago, by the same beast that had attacked Harry…shuddering, Ron turned his thoughts away from something such a fresh wound. Thankfully, after a minute, a grinning Hagrid opened the door, looking entirely unfazed at seeing Ron. "'Allo, Ron!" he said, smiling even more broadly. "Step in, step in, the chill 's frightful, eh?"

Gratefully, Ron accepted the offer, basking in the fire's warm glow, taking in the familiar scene of Hagrid's cabin. He couldn't begin to count the number of times he had set foot into this threshold since his first year and the incidents over the course of the last five years had to number in the hundreds at the very least. Once the warmth of the fire and the safety of Hagrid's hut loosened his jaw, Ron still found it very difficult to speak. He studied his hands for a moment, contemplating what to say. They were whipped red and raw from the harsh cold, and though he idly mused that maybe a comment in return of the weather would make things seem normal…seem more _right_, somehow. However, he felt a careful, scrutinizing look prickle the hairs on the back of his neck, and looking up, he met Hagrid's uncharacteristically thoughtful gaze.

"You came to see me 'bout Harry, didn' you, Ron?" Hagrid remarked quietly and wholly unnessicary. Dumbly, Ron nodded in response, thankful that it was at least out on the table, but not yet wanting to tread such fragile ground. "You'll be wantin' a cup of tea to soothe yer nerves, then."

Ron almost smiled at that comment, remembering his third year. The normal blush in response to Hermione's skeptic words, even at a wisp of memory, tinted his ears: hadn't he, Ron, offered Hagrid a cup of tea in his third year when Hagrid had been upset about Buckbeak? The paradoxes and the anticipation of this day, this entire week of waiting, had taken too much of a toll to leave room for little other than wasting time remembering. Ron silently accepted the warmth of the large mug, of Hagrid's imposing, yet safe, figure, of the knowledge that Hagrid too hated this entire ordeal.

After drinking their drinks in respective silence, Ron felt some of that warmth begin to touch his heart. Biting his lip, yet opening his mouth to speak, he hesitated to say any words. "I-I should have been there, Hagrid," he confessed, the first things he had said in so long, tumbling freely from his mouth. He found it odd, vaguely, to speak, to allow himself to voice the agony and guilt that had been ravaging his nerves.

"Aye, Ron," Hagrid said quietly in response, after a time. "Maybe you should have been, but then 'gain, there are many things I should have done in my lifetime, and I hadn't been present the proper opportunity at the time to do them." Ron knew that these words held a pointed meaning, and couldn't help flinch at them. Hagrid calmly took a sip of tea as Ron sat, helpless, frozen in time and in guilt, knowing he should move but not wanting to take a step foreword, and break out of the mold he had been in for what seemed so long. The silence he had sat in for a week had taken its harsh toll.

"Hagrid…he was just going to the Greenhouse. How could anything have gotten him?" Ron whispered. "And how could I have just let him go on his own, knowing that these were dangerous times?"

"You've just answered yer own question, Ron," Hagrid responded. "How could anything have gotten to him? No one knew, and it was just a dark beast, nothing too unusual. Madame Pomfery said he'll be 'right in the end."

Ron didn't say anything, for a time, wondering for the first time how much Hagrid really knew about the people around him. The man certainly didn't have the largest of intellects, and wasn't intelligent by the world's standards. Yet, Ron thought musingly, he was remarkably wise. Looking up, Ron met Hagrid's eyes, and felt as though Hagrid was raking through his soul, though for wholly kind reasons. How could a man so…simple do that? Ron wondered, again.

"You blame yerself, o' course, Ron, but that's expected." Then, he seemed to drastically change the subject, a knowing smile on his face. "See my pumpkins, Ron?" he asked. "I kept a few growing af'er Halloween." Hagrid took a long sip of tea, letting Ron fidget and place with his mug for a time. "But then again, I'd rather sit on a pumpkin than a velvet stool any day, eh?"

Ron looked up at Hagrid as suddenly as the wind had picked up his cloak, a rush of realization tearing through him. One step away from being completely awe-struck, Ron marveled at this giant man's wisdom. _Life is too short to worry about what I should have done,_ Ron thought, _too short to worry about the frills and comfort of velvet, too short for me to wrap myself away from the pain. Even pumpkins, with their bitter rinds, can be baked into something sweet_. Ron started to smile inwardly, as he thought of his mother's advice:

__

"When life gives you lemons, Ron, you just make lemonade. Ronald Weasley, are you listening to me?" Huffing angrily, Mrs. Weasley was a step away from whacking her unresponsive son with the wooden spoon she was brandishing.

"Yes, mum," he said finally, rolling his eyes, not hearing what she had been saying. "Of course, mum."

Hagrid sat a while more, letting Ron digest his words, letting Ron remember. "He'll not die from a wee scratch, besides. Our Harry's stronger than that, Ron." Hagrid smiled knowingly at Ron again, and Ron couldn't but help himself to show a miniscule shaky smile back.

No more words moved between them for the remainder of the duration of Ron's stay, as they sat looking into the fire, thinking, remembering, enjoying the company of the other yet enjoying the opportunity for thought, as well. At last, the sky began to tint a darker gray, and Ron stood up, knowing his visit was over. 

"You best be going 'fore the snow starts to fall," Hagrid replied. "I dunno what I'm ever goin' to do with the pumpkins," he mused aloud, more to himself than to Ron. The silence fell again.

"Hagrid, thank-" Ron started, before he was abruptly cut off by Hagrid.

"Just go," Hagrid said, not harshly but world-knowingly, not gently, either, his voice touched by sadness. "If you can continue to help Harry as much as you have, then I, and everyone else, will be the one to thank you."

Ron nodded, and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, wishing he could trap the warmness of the hut and in his heart forever in the fraying weave. Looking through the window, he could see a peek of orange, blushed into a darker red by the weakened light. He almost smiled. Stepping into the cold, blustery night, instantly the warmth fled from his bones, but most all of it remained in his conscience.

*

Closing notes - Isn't it funny how little things can invoke the imagination? I was coming home this evening, and passed a little girl selling pumpkins on the side of the road, and my mind started to work. Thank you for reading so very much! I find Hagrid fascinating, but find the lack of fanfics involving him less so, so I can hereby state that I did _not_ try to resemble any other purposely. Once again, thanks! ~ Feather

Disclaimer - I don't claim to own Harry Potter and other related works.


	2. Tea and Sympathy

Title – Pumpkins (2/??)

Author – Feather

Rating – G-PG

Genre – General/Philosophy

Category – Harry Potter

Author's notes – Truth be told, I did not originally to write another chapter to this story, but when I contemplated the character of Hagrid, I realized that one chapter could never suffice in capturing his character the way I see him. I love his relationship with Harry, and find that often in fanfiction it is undermined, and never find stories on his relationships with Hermione or Ron. So, without further ado, I present yet another vignette that I dreamed up when I saw that same little girl selling pumpkins, even though it was after Halloween. Whoever she is, this is for her: I thank her for the inspiration J .

*

__

Forgiveness is the final state of love – Reinhold Niebuhr

Bad things were not supposed to happen on sunny days. As child, Hermione Granger had always been lulled to sleep on her mother's breast by tales of glorious, happy lands were men did not bear arms and words against one another, and sunshine was eternal. Though even now she had seen a broader scope of the world, the remnants of the tales echoed through her mind; and as she looked across the sweeping slope of the Hogwarts' grounds, she could not stop a note of despair to enter her mind as well.

Rain had run its course of the grounds, and though they shimmered faintly from the mellow sunlight, her world still appeared somewhat contemplative, eerily hushed and bitter cold for a spring day. _This is precisely the kind of day one would expect to have tea with a good friend,_ she though musingly, realizing the irony: neither Harry nor Ron was speaking to her, on account of the Crookshanks incident, as she had taken to calling it. Seeing a mess of withered vines and a flash of feathers, the large figure Hagrid, ever faithful Fang at his heels, Hermione drew herself out of her seat, allowing a small sort of smile to grace her lips. The answer was painfully striking concerning what to do.

However, she realized this was all to rash of her, as well. _Irony seems to follow my every footfall today_, she thought. _Didn't I scold Harry and Ron just several weeks past for being so heedless when Sirius Black is still rampant_? But the silence, the oppressive longing for conversation was steadily wearing down what precious sanity she felt she had left. Tiding her large pile of books and making sure that the several essays she wanted to dry had sand cast upon them (feeling fastidious all the while), she hunted for her scarf and set out to Hagrid's hut.

A capricious wind loosened her hair from the strict knob she had pulled away from her face, and enjoying the sensation of the icy wind on her skin, she undid the knot that held her scarf in place. The grass and the day were growing long, and earth was still slightly damp from the earlier rainfall, making Hermione felt almost as though she was upon a great mass of coiled air. In somewhat better spirits, she reached Hagrid's door. She was slightly reluctant to knock, a bout of nerves at being so near a hippogriff and a childish wish to stay in the sunshine holding her back; but she did, and she heard the latch click open.

The joyous barking of Fang greeted her, and though she was usually loath to accept the wet, inevitable greeting, the nostalgia and reminiscence attached to such a simple gesture almost overwhelmed her. She cordially gave him a quick stroke on the head in return for the enthusiastic welcome, and her eyes met the amused ones of Hagrid. She felt her cheeks color slightly; she knew what a fearful mess she must look, but something within her compelled her to smile in return to that which was in his eyes. "Hello, Hagrid," she said, unable to keep the smile off of her face. "How do you do today?"

"Fine, jus' fine," Hagrid replied kindly. "It's a wicked sort of day out, though, bein' so cold as it is."

"I'm not so sure, Hagrid," Hermione said, settling herself in a large chair near Hagrid's fireplace. "The sunshine and the wind were a welcome relief. Though Harry and Ron would be shocked to hear this from me," she began somewhat tightly, suppressed nerves only evident in the slightly clipped tone, "the castle is so stuffy, and I can't hardly breathe, I feel, at times."  


"Ah, we all feel that way sometimes, Hermione," Hagrid replied, giving her the sensation that he knew exactly what she was feeling.

"Yes," she began, mind grasping for words to say. After a comfortable silence had elapsed, as both looked pensively into the fire, she suddenly asked, "May I have a cup of tea, Hagrid, if it isn't too much trouble?" Seeing him reach for a plate of his rock cakes, she quickly added, "Just tea will be more than enough, thanks."

"I'll put a kettle on, if you don' mind the wait," he said, not put-off in the slightest. "Yeh need something that's to warm you up, way thing's 'ave been goin', eh?" Nodding dumbly, Hermione marveled at the subtle depth his pointed words held; she knew for certain he wasn't referring to just the weather.

As he stood near the fire to prepare to large mugs of tea, he began idle conversation, though she knew he was trying to find something on a different level that she couldn't even begin to speculate. "How are your classes going? I hope you aren't killing yourself, Hermione."

"They're quite fine, Arithmancy in particular," she replied, though somewhat slowly, feeling as though she was missing something. "Professor Vector was going into an interesting theory today, the Chaos theory. I've researched it before, of course, but only background information, and when she spoke of the different methods used, I knew for certain that I finally understood it." As she talked, Hermione gained some enthusiasm, and when she halted, she was thankful that Hagrid was so polite as to not halt her right then and there for her rambling. Murmuring apologies in an undertone, she ducked her head, and was thankful that at that moment, almost like magic, the kettle started to whistle.

Thankfully, several topics for discussion came to her head, so that she could avoid further embarrassment, and she gratefully accepted a mug of steaming tea. "Cream or sugar?" Hagrid asked, though he knew that she took neither.

"No thank you, Hagrid," she said, smiling at the secret sort of joke that had been passed between them for three years. "I was taught to drink it black, and everything else almost seems unnecessary by now."

Taking a long sip of his tea, black eyes searching her face, he replied calmly, "Sometimes the things we think we don' need are what we are in mos' need of." Hermione sat silent for a moment, letting the warmth of the tea, Hagrid's reassuring wisdom, and the sudden knowledge of security enter her conscience.

"I-if you don't mind, then, Hagrid, may I have a bit of sugar to sweeten this?" Hermione asked timidly. Looking not the least part surprised, he smiled at her as a yes, and took a small pot off of the mantle-piece.

"Life does seem a bit black and strong for yeh these days, doesn' it?" Hagrid inquired gently.

Knowing that no answer was needed, Hermione poured a bit a sugar into her tea hesitantly, and took a long sip, the sudden sweetness and comfort relieving. "So," she asked, fumbling with the large handle of the mug, "Why didn't you just have me magic the kettle warm? I learned a handy little charm yesterday that causes liquids to boil, I looked it up for Potions, though I know Professor Snape wouldn't approve, something about 'Potions being an art, etc.'"

"Magic isn't everything, neither is knowledge," he replied, his large figure reclined gracefully in an armchair near the fire, radiating all things soft and comforting. Hermione was slightly taken back at his words, but recovered quickly.

"I…I suppose not," she stuttered.

"Poor Hermione," Hagrid muttered aloud jokingly, as though she weren't in the room. "Yeh've learned so much, yet no so little."

Instead of being insulted, however, Hermione sat, slightly puzzled at his words. "Hagrid…I'm not quite sure what you mean."

For what had to be the umpteenth time, he smiled at her, and though she had no idea what he was talking about, he felt it touch her soul. "What are yeh missin', Hermione? Don' tell me that knowledge 's everything, because yeh know that yeh're not happy."

"Please don't make me think about this, Hagrid," Hermione asked, only half-joking. "What aren't I happy?" Measuring her next words carefully, she said with some deliberation, "I suppose I've never really been lonely before. When I was younger, I had my parents always, and I feel as though I've always had Harry and Ron, even before I met them."

"An' yeh know that I'll always be here, too," Hagrid cut in gently.

Smiling back, she replied, "Of course, Hagrid…of course."

Hermione stood up, delicately finished her tea, and made to tidy up the remaining mess of the tea bags and the mugs. They settled into a silence for a time, comfortable, but one both of them knew would precede revelations and great wisdom. "Hagrid," she said suddenly, "How on earth are you so wise?"

"A fool thinks 'imself a wise man, but a wise man knows 'imself to be a fool," Hagrid said mildly. "What I know is balderdash to some."

Hermione looked at him in a mix of surprise and admiration. "I didn't know that you could quote Shakespeare!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Was I?" Hagrid asked in the same mild tone, one Hermione recognized to mean that he hadn't the fainted clue as to who Shakespeare was. She found herself smiling, and wondered, suddenly, _when did I stop being so tense about Harry and Ron?_

"Hagrid," she asked again, "You know that I really want to forgive them, right?"

Hagrid nodded sagely, reclining further in his chair. "I know yeh want to, Hermione. With your whole 'eart, too. But I also know you can't bring yerself to, and I'm curious as to why that is."

"I'm a bit cross with them, Hagrid. Yes, I know Crookshanks could have eaten Scabbers, but I also know that Ron probably shouldn't have accused me of something like that so rashly. I can't control the animal's instincts with a clear integrity, nor could I bring myself to: Crookshanks was only doing what was his nature."

Hagrid looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "If I know anything, Hermione, it's that I can' ever judge a man when I haven't walked in 'is shoes. I can try as I might, but I'll never know why 'e did what he did. The only thing I can do is forgive him is trespasses, as I'm only a man, and it's not my place to judge 'im."

__

I shouldn't be surprised, Hermione repeated to herself, almost becoming a mantra in her head by the time she overcame her shock. Her heart and mind were both full of a new kind of admiration for him. The first coherent thing that came to her lips was, "You're quite right, Hagrid – I don't know anything at all."

Hagrid laughed fully, and his rich baritone filled her heart with warmth that had been lacking. And suddenly, she knew that Hagrid _would_ always be there. "Hagrid…thank you," she said, face serious, but content and resigned to the current situation at hand.

"I don't need your thanks, Hermione, I just hope you'll be okay." _If those words had come from another's lips, I would have screamed_, she thought_, but from him, they're so soothing._ She nodded.

A haunting screech filled the air, and Hermione felt her self start; she had completely forgotten Beaky. "Is it his feeding time?" she said, standing up, judging from the long shadows and the rich yellow light that it was nearing dinner time.

"Ahh, yes, how could I've forgotten?" Hagrid murmured absently. "'ere, Hermione, you had best get to dinner." She nodded in response, though she knew that he couldn't see her. She didn't feel quite ready to leave yet, though, so stared at the delicate sweep of the grain on the table, admiring the ash's fine crystalline facets. A piece of parchment littered the table, and peering a bit closer at it, she saw it was a letter to the Ministry of Magic.

"Hagrid," she asked hesitantly, "How's Buckbeak's appeal coming along?" A shadow flitted across his face at these words.

"Well enough, I suppose," he said, looking somewhat pained.

"We definitely have information to support our side, don't forget that," Hermione asked, desperate to turn Hagrid's mind from what was probably the truth. "Hagrid, why is your handwriting so messy?" she found herself blurting out in order to change to conversation.

He regarded her with some surprise. "It's difficult to write as small as it needs to be for normal size," he admitted. "I didn' want it to be so big that no one could read it." Once again, Hermione found herself amazed at the pains Hagrid took upon himself so that others wouldn't ever know that they might have been inconvenienced. _A kinder man I don't think I'll ever know_, she though.

"I really need to be going," she said, after a short silence. "I have to finished studying. Thank you for the tea, Hagrid…and for so much more, as well." Awkwardly, she stood in front of him, and hesitantly, she stood on her tiptoes and attempted to wrap her arms around his middle in a form of a hug.

Hagrid hugged her back, though he had to stoop over. Bidding her good-byes one final time, kissing Fang on the top of the head, and waving to a squawking Buckbeak, Hermione knew she forgot her scarf, but didn't care. If she had another excuse to visit Hagrid for another cup of tea, maybe another dreary sunny day would be transformed into a beautiful one.

*

Author's notes: I'm not quite sure if there are going to be more chapters in this series, but I am hesitantly planning a story looking at the relationship between Hagrid and Harry. I loved writing this piece, and thanks for all the positive feedback on the first chapter. I love you all! Feather J   


Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Harry Potter and other related works. 


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